


memoirs from death city

by soundofez



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: (Maka Albarn's Mother), Gen, no death just, subpar parenting, this one might hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6353728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofez/pseuds/soundofez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>((collection of short soul eater one-shots. ratings vary from chapter to chapter. tags reflect the most recent update.))</p>
<p><b>latest,</b> "Parable"</p>
<p>Soul's parents loved him no less than Maka's parents loved her, but he would never know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [G] the calm before the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the way you said "I love you," too quick, mumbled into your scarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reposted from tumblr ([original](http://soundofez.tumblr.com/post/141637728448))

Soul is not new to intrusive thoughts. Intrusive thoughts he’s used to. Intrusive thoughts he can handle, more or less.

Thoughts about how cute his meister looks in the nerve-wracking interlude before a full-out battle are another matter, but for whatever reason it’s particularly difficult to ignore the fact that Maka bundled up in layers with earmuffs on top is adorable.

He can’t say when he started being so aware of his meister. He shouldn’t be staring down (?) (direction is weird in weapon form) at the curve of her jaw, watching it tremble in the snowstorm around Brew.

“Nerves?” he asks quietly, barely audible over the roaring snow.

She glances up at him. Wind bites at the skin of her neck under her chin, and Soul senses goosebumps. “It’s just cold,” she tells him, tucking her chin back down. He wants to transform back, just for long enough to hand her his scarf, so her neck isn’t so cold.

“It’d get in the way of a fight.”

Oops. Had he said that out loud? “After the fight, then? On the way back?”

She grins. The upturn of her lips is just visible from weapon form, and he can sense her quiet appreciation. “Sure,” she says, more in soul-feels than in mouth-sounds as they wait for Professor Stein and Death Scythe Mjonir to emerge from the tempest.


	2. [G] 会いました、愛

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they meet, he loves, she acts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reposted from tumblr. written during The Write Year.

they meet in school and fall in love. she saves him from his friend, but he can’t save them from themselves.

they meet in a bar and fall in love. she saves him from his wife, but he can’t save them from his daughter.

* * *

he meets them in the streets and falls in love, over and over and over. they give him their love and take it away.

he meets her in restaurants and always loves her. she meets him out of obligation, but he loves her all the same.

he meets her in his dreams and is in love with her. she turns him away, and because he is scum he lets her.

* * *

they meet when he is 30-something and he is 13, partnered with his daughter. he can see it coming, and he fights furiously to save his daughter from this creature.

they meet when he is 40-something and he is 23, engaged to his daughter. he knows he is defeated, knows they are both defeated, and lets his daughter have her fiancé.

they meet when he is 50-something and he is 3, born from his daughter. he adores the baby boy he never had, even as he makes sure to save his daughter from herself.

they meet when he is 60-something, when time has healed some of the wounds they inflicted on one another. he couldn’t save them from themselves, but maybe he never needed to.


	3. [T] nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they aren't like that. (sort of.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited from tumblr ([original](http://soundofez.tumblr.com/post/116160474703/)). written during The Write Year.

Soul wakes in a sweat. Maka wakes with a stifled scream. Soul hears her anyway, just as Maka hears his soul. They both stumble out of their rooms and cling to one another, fierce, trembling. Maka had relived his death, red and black across his chest, and Soul had relived hers, bursting through the skin of her belly.

They find themselves tangled on the couch, the TV turned to the most pointless show they can find, and eventually fall asleep again in the comfort of one another's arms.

This is the first time they sleep together.

* * *

It's an innocuous phrase, Maka thinks.

"Call yourself a man?" Spirit asks Soul, loudly, as though calling for the attention of the deserted street. "Have you even slept with my Maka, yet?"

"Yes," Maka replies absently, and only realizes what she's said when the bickering stops.

Soul is staring inscrutably at her, his eyes glowing softly under incandescent street lamps. Spirit looks halfway between an explosion and a meltdown.

"Oh," Maka says. "Is that everything, Lord Death?"

"Abso-positively-lutely, Maka, dear!" Lord Death chirps brightly. "See you when you get back to DC! Ciao!"

And the mirror-line disconnects, leaving silence in its wake.

Finally, Soul asks simply: "Nightmares?"

It's the first time either of them has acknowledged what brings them to their late nights huddled together on their couch, or the gap on the floor between hotel beds.

"Nightmares," Maka confirms quietly.

Soul hums. "Literally sleeping together." His voice is low and thoughtful. "Cool."

* * *

"Waitawaita _waitasec_. You told everyone you've been sleeping together for years!"

Soul shrugs. "Technically, yeah." He is unruffled at Black*Star's amazement as he takes a chomp out of his burger.

"I don't get it!" the meister proclaims, waving a handful of fries around in agitation. "Don't get me wrong, I do _not_ want the deets on Maka, that is gross, she's my sister, but seriously, man? What's up with that?"

Soul shrugs again, gulping down his mouthful. "Not into it, I guess."

Black*Star squints at him. "I don't get it," he repeats.

"Neither do I, man," Soul garbles back around another chunk of burger.

* * *

"I don't get it," Maka announces one day, tucked against his chest with a book while Soul plays Mario Kart, his hands tapping against the controller by her waist. Outside, the sun sets, casting a warm glow over their living room.

"What?" Soul asks, drifting around a bend in the track and cursing when he overshoots off the course and into lava.

"Kissing," Maka states, craning her neck to face him and accidentally driving the unyielding base of a pigtail into his throat. He chokes and drives into lava again while she apologizes and tries not to laugh.

He pauses the game and sets the controller aside. She dog-ears a page and closes the book. They rearrange, uncomfortably comfortable in how they curl around one another.

"Okay," Soul says, hoarsely. "Okay," he repeats. "Sorry. Kissing?"

This time when Maka tilts her head toward his, there is no bodily harm involved. "Yeah. I don't get it. Wanna try?"

If he hesitates, it's only for the briefest of moments. "Sure, why not."

So they maneuver again, pressing their lips together. Their tongues stay in their respective mouths. His lips are soft and chapped. Hers are soft and fleeting.

They ponder on the experience.

"Kinda boring," Maka declares.

"Wanna try frenching?" Soul suggests, but he is dubious that the deep, calm thrum of his heart would beat any differently.

Maka makes a face. "Ew, no. Tongues are gross. 'Specially yours, _Eater_."

Soul snorts. "Yeah, like yours is any better. Not a thing?"

Maka nods decisively. "Not a thing."


	4. [T] open up for the god you do not know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black☆Star tries to visit Maka. He'd say he gets there fine. Maka would disagree. Soul may or may not think the guy he finds at his door is drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally written for Jules, who sent me the prompt: "soma, knocking on the wrong door."
> 
> Black☆Star didn't need to get involved. he did anyway.
> 
> reposted from tumblr. written during The Write Year.

"Makaaaa," Black☆Star roars, pounding on room number 4242. "Open up for your god!"

"Dude, I don't know who the fuck you are, but that's not Maka's door."

Black☆Star turns toward the irritated drawl. The guy that greets his eyes is white-haired and red-eyed and offensively tall and burdened with several bags of groceries, probably, judging by the milk he spots through one bag and the chips and salsa in another. Squinting, he proclaims, "You're not Maka."

"No shit," the man deadpans. He puts down the bags in his left hand and shoves the freed hand in his pocket. "Why're you looking for her, anyway?" he asks suspiciously, his hand pulling out a ring of keys and flipping through them. They clink distractingly.

"She's my li'l—"

"God _damn_ it, Black☆Star, check your fucking phone more often!"

"A god can't damn themselves," Black☆Star shoots back, pulling a face at the girl that just rounded the corner.

"You put the moron in oxymoron."

"Hey, Maka. Who's the weirdo?" The white-haired stranger's door creaks open. He picks up his groceries and pauses at the threshold, frowning at both of them.

"This weirdo is my _brother_ , jerk," Maka snaps. The guy lifts a brow, his shoulders rising defensively. He'd probably raise his hands, too, if they weren't full. Maka notices (surprisingly, Black☆Star thinks) and takes a deep, calming breath.

"Black☆Star," she finally announces, "this is Soul, my _boyfriend_. Soul, this is my brother Black☆Star. Don't make me rip out either of your faces."

Soul's scowl deepens, if anything. "Come in, I guess," he offers guardedly, "but why was he at my door?"

Maka flushes. "I, uh, might've been typing too fast. Didn't catch it until I saw the time."

" _Again?_ " Soul complains as he starts putting his groceries away, out of sight.

"Shut! Tried texting _and calling_ —" she shoots her brother a disgruntled look— "but this knucklehead didn't fucking see it."

Black☆Star shrugs expansively as he strides into Soul's apartment. "Whatever, pigtails. He's older than I thought you'd go for, though. Sketch as fuck."

“I can’t help that my hair is white!” Soul shouts from the kitchenette.

“He’s in my year,” Maka adds petulantly, crossing her arms as she flops into a chair at a table.

Black☆Star snorts and stands on the chair beside her, ignoring Soul's squawk of complaint. “That means nothing. Besides, he’s gotta be some kind of lolicon to go after you and your tiny tits.”

“They are awesome tits!” Soul protests at the same time Maka squawks, “He’s younger than me!” Then, simultaneously, “Get off the fucking table!” Then, simultaneously again, “Wait, what?”

Black☆Star scoffs, but he ruffles Maka’s head affectionately on his way back off the table, mussing her hair and provoking a shriek of rage. "Killjoys. You're perfect for each other already."


	5. [G] not lost enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul wishes his friends weren’t also his students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was for yet another prompt from Jules ♥♥♥: “Teacher AU where the students ship it.”
> 
> [available on tumblr](http://soundofez.tumblr.com/post/120826912018/). written during The Write Year.
> 
> title is a reference to poisonedscarlett's [lost in the moment](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9936762/1/lost-in-the-moment), which is an ACTUAL teacher AU involving at least one student who ships it.

“You know there’s a lyric writing course after this class, right?”

Soul glances up from the score-in-progress on his music stand to glance at Kilik. “Okay?”

Kilik smirks a little, and Soul quickly drops his eyes back to his score. His thumb absently rubs up and down the low E string of his guitar as he tries to refocus on his composition, hoping maybe to block out whatever else Kilik is going to say.

It doesn’t work. “Rumor’s going around that your girlfriend is teaching the class,” Kilik continues.

Soul snorts. “What, just because this is a songwriting course? C’mon, man, don’t be ridiculous.”

“It is an odd coincidence,” Kid comments, meticulously tuning his lyre. “The Thompsons are taking that course, actually.”

Soul doesn’t look up, but he knows Liz is grinning and Patty— “Soulie’s in that course, too!”

He ignores the slow burn creeping into his ears and manages to pluck out a few chords, though they don’t relate to the song he’s composing. “I’m a music major,” he hears himself say. “I’m gonna need to know how to write lyrics.”

“They are adorable,” Liz coos.

“I’m gonna fail you,” Soul growls.

“You are strumming threateningly and nonironically,” Kilik points out, laughing.

Soul slaps his hands over the strings, cutting the sound short. “I can fail you, too!” he hisses.

“That seems rather unethical of you,” Kid notes, still tuning.

“Talking about my personal life is unprofessional. I’m reacting accordingly.”

“Bro, you may be teaching us songwriting, but this is a student-taught course, and student-taught courses are never professional, iunno who you’re trying to kid,” Kilik grins, fingers pecking at his drum.

“Group project, everyone write a song together, record it, and turn it in by next class,” Soul spits out.

Liz scoffes. “You’re joking.”

Soul’s smirk is wide enough to eat shit. “Better get started,” he chortles, playing the last bar of his music.

He’s considerably less pleased when the crowd sticks around for Maka’s lyric writing course.

“I feel like I should get my students to sit in on your class now, Soul,” Maka jokes weakly. “I’m really sorry, uh…”

“I’m Kid, this is Kilik, and that is Meme,” Kid tells her politely, offering his hand. She takes it, bemused, and permits him to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms Albarn.”

Maka’s face has a faint smile on it, though she’s mostly uncertain. “Please, call me Maka. I… uh, this room really isn’t big enough for another three of you…?”

“Of course, where are my manners? We can sit on the floor.”

Maka stares at him, incredulous, and then breaks into a wide grin. “If you really want to be here, then great! I mean, as long as you don’t distract anyone, I don’t see any problems!”

Meme takes that moment to create her first loud tuba note of the day, oblivious.

“Uh, Meme,” Soul says quietly, leaning toward her from his neighboring seat, “this isn’t songwriting anymore, you don’t have to stay.”

Meme blinks at him. “Really?” She looks back down at her mouthpiece. “Okay.” And she starts to squirm out of her tuba.

Maka raises a brow at Soul. “Did you just forget to dismiss your class?”

Soul tries not to scowl and fails. “No, I definitely dismissed them. Loudly. Multiple times.” At her look, he rushes to elaborate: “They wanted to stick around. I mean, s-songwriting and lyric writing go hand in hand, so they got curious.”

Crona peeks in the door and makes a small whimper. “I’m s-sorry!” he (she? Soul could never tell, and no one ever called them by anything but their name) wails. “I th-thought this was my class! I— I don’t know— w-wait, Maka?”

“Hi, Crona! Come on in!” Maka chirps, beaming at the poor confused freshman. “We’ve got some… interested people here. They might be joining the class!”

“Oh, o-okay,” Crona stammers, and inches into the room.

Tsugumi walks in and also does a double-take. “Hi, Maka!” she greets, slightly confused. “Did we get more classmates? Meme, I thought you weren’t taking this class…”

“I’m not,” Meme tells her roommate placidly as she puts the last of her tuba away.

“We might be,” Maka smiles at Tsugumi.

Tsugumi nods understandingly, but upon sitting leans over to Soul and says innocently, “Wow, I knew you liked Maka, but I didn’t know you’d bring your class to boost hers! That’s so cute of you!”

“That’s not it at all,” Soul groans quietly into his hands, his eyes clenched shut.


	6. [G] Parable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul's parents loved him no less than Maka's parents loved her, but he would never know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited from tumblr ([original](http://soundofez.tumblr.com/post/124629683368/parable)). written during The Write Year.

"Young man, you are in _so much trouble._ "

The boy winces as his mother's voice lances through his back. He doesn't turn to face her.

"Look at me, boy."

He shuffles around, but keeps his head lowered, as though his unruly bangs might shield him from her wrath.

"I said, _look at me,_ Soul Evans!"

Reluctantly, Soul lifts his eyes from the floor, gazing fearfully up at his mother, but his chin is still tucked to his chest.

" _Soul. Evans._ "

"'M looking at you," Soul mumbles.

"Lift your head, boy, and tell me why I received a call from your tutor this afternoon."

Silence is safer than a reply, Soul thinks. Soul hopes.

"Answer me, Soul," his mother commands, her voice silken and deadly.

"A bit the inst'uctor," Soul finally mumbles.

"Speak _up_."

Soul bites his lip, feeling his eyes sting and water. "I bit the in-stirrr-uhk-ter," he says carefully, tasting iron.

"You bit the instructor," Mother repeats. "We told you, didn't we? No biting."

"The instructor was being mean," Wes interjects softly from somewhere behind Mother.

"Wes, honey, this doesn't concern you," Mother dismisses. "Soul has to learn that biting people is not the Evans way, and it won't get him away from people he doesn't like, anyway. This cannot go on."

Soul shifts his gaze to his father, who stands silent and disapproving beside his mother. Wordlessly, Father turns away, apparently unable to look at his failure of a son.

"Soul," Mother snaps, and Soul's attention jerks back to her.

"Yes, Mother," he says automatically.

"Soul, listen to me," she tells him lowly, fiercely. "People will already treat you differently because of how you look. Ah, ah! Don't talk back, listen! Soul, we can't do this. If you keep biting people, we'll have to make you see someone, understand?"

Soul stuffs his hands against his mouth, trying to hold back sobs.

"That's right," Mother continues, ruthlessly, "you would have to go talk to scary people all by yourself. Daddy and I and Wes can't be there, understand? And it would be _terrible_ for the family! We don't want that, do we?"

Soul shakes his head.

"Good boy. Now, repeat after me: I won't bite anyone ever again."

"I won't bite anyone ever again," Soul whispers through his hands.

" _Louder_ , Soul."

"I w-won't bite anyone ev-ver again," Soul repeats, louder, but his voice still wavers.

Mother nods curtly. "You'll say it again at dinner."

Soul nodes mutely.

"Alright, Soul. Be good." And she turns away, her flowing skirt billowing gracefully behind her. "Wes, come. We need to plan for your next recital."

Wes casts a worried look back at Soul, but follows their mother anyway.

Soul slowly lowers his hands from his mouth. They are ragged and red from his teeth.

* * *

Maka slinks into the apartment, hoping to escape the notice of her parents.

"Maka-baby!"

No such luck. Maka tries not to turn around even as her Papa swoops, spinning her around and tossing her into the air with a whoop. Even though she wanted to hide, she can't help but giggle at the whooshing sensation as she soars through the air.

She's still giggling when Papa sets her down. "Maka-baby," he asks, squinting down at her, "did you get into a fight again?"

Maka tries to pout, but winces and puts a grubby hand to her split lip.

Spirit growls. "Was it that boy Black Star again? Papa will go beat him up for you!" He stands, fully prepared to stride to the door.

"Nooooo, Papa!" Maka whines as she seizes Spirit's pants leg, giggling again at the thought of her Papa fighting stupid Black Star.

"What's going on?"

Maka whips her head around. "Mama!" she shouts happily.

Mama approaches. "Did someone get in another fight?" She sighs the question, not quite annoyed, but not very happy, either.

Maka looks down at the floor quickly. "Maybe," she says shiftily.

"Oh, Maka," Maka says, kneeling to her. "Didn't we tell you not to fight so much?"

Maka tries to pout again. It hurts. "But Black Star is a stupid meanie-butt," she protests.

Mama snorts. "Maybe he is," she smiles faintly, "but you two can't fight forever."

"Why not?"

She is so wide-eyed and innocent. Spirit coos and exclaims, "Of course you can!" but Mama looks away from her.

"Papa, instead of going to beat up a child, why don't you teach Maka how to fight? Then she can beat Black Star on her own," Mama suggests.

"Of course! My meister is so smart," Spirit simpers.

"Mama should teach me," Maka points out. "Mama's the meister."

"Mama has to cook dinner," she smiles. "Let Papa teach you, okay?"

"Why can't Papa cook?"

"Papa doesn't know how to cook food that will make you grow up big and strong," Mama tells her.

"Oh." Maka's face scrunches in painful deliberation. "Well, okay."

"Let's clean up those ouchies first! Okay, Maka?" Spirit tries to lead his daughter to the bathroom.

"Okay," Maka agrees, looking back at Mama.

Mama smiles back. (Tomorrow, she'll begin to file for divorce.)

* * *

"What did your parents do?" Maka wonders aloud. "I mean, Papa is the farthest thing from perfect, but I can't imagine avoiding him for... how many years, again?"

Soul shrugs apathetically, avoiding Maka's gaze. "It doesn't matter."

"But it _does_! I don't get it," Maka grumbles.

"Yeah, so drop it."

Maka purses her lips at the edge in her partner's voice. "You know you can talk to me about it," she says quietly.

Soul grunts in affirmation. The sit in rigid silence until Soul sighs and leans his head against Maka's shoulder. "Someday, okay?" Soul mumbles. "Just... not today."

"Okay," Maka agrees.


End file.
